Hollywood Revisits: The Greatest Story Ever Told

Jesus was a ninja, trained by his stepfather Joseph (whose actual name was Miyamoto Musashi, a name he changed when he move to Galilee in hopes to fit in with the Middle Eastern culture). For nearly thirty years Jesus trained under the tutelage of Musashi who himself had been trained by his own father before he fled the tyranny that infested his native Japan in the hope to find rest in a nation that he eventually found to be equally oppressive. By the time Musashi began to teach his own son the martial arts, he knew it was time to stop running and make a stand. This he would do through his son: Jesus.

Now thirty-three, Jesus himself knew it was the apt moment to dispute the despotic domination of the Roman government and lead the people past their perverted persecutors, and with the tools Musashi had gifted him, he knew he could complete this task. For the last three years he had traveled from town to town, moralizing the messages Musashi had taught him, messages derived from the Tao Te Ching which had traveled to Rome through a sort of cultural osmosis. At night Jesus and his twelve apprentices (all of whom had taken up the martial art of Ninjitsu) would stalk the roof tops of towns, hiding behind the shadows of gargoyles, and slinking in and out of vents and chimneys until they could see that an injustice was about to occur. Then they would invoke their skills and rescue whoever it was that might have descended into mischief’s unsympathetic grip. By dawn they would have returned to their camp for a few hours rest and in the afternoon they would grill up some ground-beef to fill their hunger before hitting the streets and preaching the word.

They indulged in everyday activities which Jesus insisted on in order to keep them grounded. When doing laundry for example, they followed tedious instructions and had to boil water in a large pot which rested on a tripod and hung over an unguarded flame. When the water began to boil they would empty it into a tub through a spigot on the side of the pot, and it was in this tub where they would wash their mauve robes in order to be fresh for the day’s adventure.

But three years of this was enough. “I don’t need any namby-pamby cowards! I need brave men!” Jesus was ready to confront the Romans, but none of his disciples were properly prepared, none accept his greatest student and friend: Judas! So while Jesus planned a pleasant sundown supper- which would include cake and grape juice, and would be capped off with some meditation in the garden of Gethsemane- Judas, under the orders of his instructor, traveled to the capital where he informed the Praetorian Guard where Jesus could be found.

Little did the Romans know this was all a part of Jesus’ plan!

No more would Jesus and his army of twelve ninjas have to travel from town to town on old mares, passing through channels to avoid detection on the roads. Nor would they have to spend their days traveling through the dessert, praying to find a gnamma among so many rocks of calcite, that they might have a single drink of water. While it was true that Jesus hadn’t brought his message as far as the island of Scarp, or even Okinawa for that matter, once he overturned the Roman empire, justice and freedom would prove to be contagious virtues that would spread throughout the world with the rapidity of a cleansing flame. No longer would the leaders of the world be Muppets to greed, but rather they would be beacons of light, like Napoleon. Yes, if everything fell into place then the people could ersatz decadence with decency.

But before all this could happen, Jesus had to confront Caiaphas and to do that he needed all twelve of his ninjas, none of whom- save Judas- were ready this test. Once he himself was captured, Jesus thought his disciples would be inspired with courage and overcome their fear of Caiaphas’ deadly mind-controlling, nerve gas: Neurope. It was this fear of Neurope that caused the disciples to stutter when it came to confronting the Romans in the past, and Jesus prayed that his capture would provide the stimulation and motivation needed to defeat their fears.

Things had gone as planned, and as the ninjas meditated on the green verdure of the garden of Gethsemane, Judas (who had secretly disposed of all the Neurope) arrived, and standing under the plaque above the garden’s entrance, called to Jesus. Jesus stood and was greeted with a kiss by his loyal and faithful servant, a kiss that was followed by the arrival the wicked Caiaphas and his evil henchmen.

Simon (who was called Peter in honour of his incredibly large member) took his stance instantly and drew his samurai sword against the Praetorian Guard. The Way flowed through him and as a Roman named Malchus took the challenge, he was met with a swift blade that cut off his left ear. Screaming in pain Malchus fell to the ground and Simon (who was called Peter in honour of his incredibly large member) decapitated him without hesitation.

“Who’s next!?” he commanded.

What followed was a blood bath, Simon (who was called Peter in honour of his incredibly large member) danced among the guards with his expeditious sword and with every exact swoop and slash, dismembered at least one limb of a Roman soldier. Before long twenty Praetorian Guards were laying on the ground, drowning in their own blood which now saturated the once green grass of Gethsemane.

With all the excitement going on, Caiaphas had taken Jesus and soon, Jesus would face his match in a Shaolin monk turned Roman governor name Pontius Pilate.

The next day the Jesus stood before Pilate and the captain of the Praetorian Guard, who was a lean and lustful woman dressed in knee high leather boots and a black latex suit that exposed all of her sinful curves and was accompanied by a corset that pushed her breasts up through the low-cut opening of her latex suit. She carried a cat-of-nine-tales and looked eager to use it.

“Are you a god?” Pilate asked.

“I am just a man in search of the truth.” Jesus answered.

“Enough with your flapdoodle nonsense! Forty lashes!”

“With pleasure.” the captain of the Praetorian Guard answered in a whisper.

She proceeded to take Jesus into a private room with her cat-of-nine-tales and did not emerge for nearly an hour. When she did Jesus had barely a scratch on him. Instead of the blood Pilate expected, Jesus wore a satisfied smile

“What is this?” Pilate asked.

“I gave him forty lashings. Forty, tongue lashings that is. Enjoyed every minute of it.” she spoke with a lustfully wry grin.

“That’s it!” Pilate declared, “To the gallows!”

And so it was off to the gallows with Jesus. Soon there was a noose around his neck and an executioner by his side, while a mob of at least a thousand booed and hissed at the Praetorian Guard who had formed a large barricade to prevent Jesus’ followers from interfering with the afternoon’s execution.

The barricade however was pointless as Simon (who was called Peter in honour of his incredibly large member) had stationed himself on a hill within view of the gallows. Patiently he waited as the other disciples took their places, each glancing at their watches -which they had earlier synchronized- to make sure they were on schedule. Simon (who was called Peter in honour of his incredibly large member) was also a novice spelunker and had discovered a cave which lead to the sea, perfect for a getaway should things not go quit as planned, though it would turn out to be a useless precaution.

As the executioner reached for the lever the other disciples took their places and Simon (who was called Peter in honour of his incredibly large member) drew back with his arrow ‘twix his fingers as if he were a pizzicato, and let fly an arrow that was both quick and accurate. In a heart beat the noose which was around Jesus’ neck was severed and Jesus dropped to the ground unharmed.

The first soldier who approached Jesus was also the first to die that day. Jesus (whose hands were tied behind his back) jumped up and brought his hands in front of his chest and as the soldier tried to drop a sword upon the head of our Lord, Jesus presented his constricted hands to the soldier who unwittingly cut them free from the rope and before the soldier knew what had happened, Jesus was behind him slitting the soldier’s throat with his own sword.

All twelve disciples, along with the latex clad captain of the Praetorian Guard, had taken up arms against their oppressors whose barricade had fallen short of its duty and the governor’s court was now filled with the people who had been oppressed under his harsh rule for far too long. But Pilate himself had escaped, or so he thought.

Jesus slashed, and kicked and punched his way through the court, following both Pilate and Caiaphas who had run up the stairs, both hoping to catch the helicopter that was waiting for them on the roof top.

Jesus followed shouting: “For your sins yea shall pay in blood, and by the pint at that!”

Like the wife of Lot, Caiaphas was consumed by fearful curiosity and turned back to see if Jesus was shortening the steps which separated them, and like this inquisitive wretch who lent no heed to her warnings, Caiaphas paid for to satisfy this curiosity with his life as one of Jesus’ exact ninja stars found its mark in between the eyes of Caiaphas.

Pilate was the only one left standing in between the tyrannical way of life that destroyed so many, and the peace, justice, and happiness that was promised in prophecy.

“Pilate!” Jesus called. “Face me like a man. You were once a Shaolin monk. Surely some of the honour that was taught to you must remain.”

“You are no match for me Jesus. But if you insist to die today, I shall grant your wish.” Pilate readied himself and presented his first stance to Christ.

“I see, the Buddha’s-Palm stance, very impressive, but no match for my Tiger-Claw.”

Pilate pulled back at these words: “Perhaps my Crane style will be a better match than my Buddha’s-Palm.”

“That is a unique stance for the Crane style.” Jesus noted.

“Yes, I call Crane-at-Irish-wedding. I developed it when I used to fight in Ireland. A story that is neither here nor there, but you will suffer from what I learned in that time period of my life.” They fought for what seemed like hours to the sound track of countless machine guns popping off wild bullets below, which filled the air with their wicked, rapid-fire bursts.

“Enough with this Kung-fu garbage. I am a ninja, and as such I shall use the skills taught to me by my father who knew both kung-fu and ninjistu.”

With this Jesus raised his hands in a form that was fresh to Pilate’s eyes. “My father called this the Spider-Claw, it joins the best of ninjistu and kung-fu together to fashion an unbeatable form.”

With that there was no more waiting. The two warriors charged at one another and engaged in an epic battle. Though the battle last mere hours, it seemed to tear through the seasons as a lion’s fang tears through the tender flesh of an innocent caribou who’s legs proved to slow on the wrong day. The battle transformed into a blur that cannot be described with words and though this fight lasted until dusk, and each stage had its own exciting climax, the only thing that mattered upon the arrival of Dawn’s nurturing rays, was that Jesus had successfully defeated the autocratic Pilate who lay on the ground with a pool of blood accumulating under his open mouth.

The corrupt government was hence overthrown and justice returned to the people. Jesus even helped restore honour to the Shaolin society which had been disgraced by Pilate and freedom and justice was delivered to people all around the world.

Jason John Horn is a writer and critic who recently completed his Master's in English Literature at the University of Windsor. He has composed a play, a novella and a number of short stories and satirical essays.

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